


Searching

by Puck_Monger_99



Series: Window Shopping [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dallas Stars, Genius!Tyler, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puck_Monger_99/pseuds/Puck_Monger_99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time Tyler was a genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching

**Author's Note:**

> New series.   
> Tyler is a genius.
> 
> All works will be considered mature, even if there is a lack of nearly explicit content. 
> 
>  
> 
> This is fiction.

Tyler growled, banging his fist against his bed post. Cash yipped unhappily at him, and Marshall just barely lifted his head to give his owner an apathetic look. Tyler did it again. 

It was bad enough that he was stuck watching games instead of being in them, but now he was confined to the limited space of his house. He wasn't allowed to go anywhere in his car, or walk his dogs, or even grab his mail without the supervision of trainers or teammates. He hastily stood up from the bed in protest, disregarding the sharp pain that shot through his legs. He was a capable, independent man, dammit! 

Hobbling pathetically to his kitchen, he threw open the door to his medicine cabinet, and grabbed doctor prescribed pain pills. He tossed them back dry, making a grab for his reading glasses. They weren't used for many things, unless he would be spending long hours at his computer screen. Tyler made sure he was comfy before settling into his desk chair. 

Once upon a time he could read, write, and speak over ten different languages. He was able to argue about the finer points of philosophical literature with university professors, and he could calculate the angle and degree from which the perfect pass could be made. He knew all the pressure points of the human body, and was able to bring down men twice his size, he could cook five-star meals, and he used to be able to navigate any city like he'd lived there his entire life, regardless of where he was. 

Of course, all that changed after he was drafted. He no longer had the time to continue speaking most of those languages, and philosophy had no place on the ice. He now had to depend on teammates more heavily with the Stars and Bruins both, and definitely went without all the ice time he deserved in Boston. He was forced to take the role of a nubile rookie, someone without experience or understanding of adult life. After a season or two of pretending he was helpless, he found all of his skills were rusty. 

Tyler didn't remember why he had to learn these things, in fact most of his years as a minor hockey player were kind of a blank spot in his memory, save for the image of normal teenage stupidity, and Tyler Brown. 

But there was a pesky cognizance flickering in the back of his mind that told him he had the answers. They were hidden, perhaps not just in the mind, but somewhere else, too. His fingers flew over his keyboard.

He reread the email over and over again, until he was certain it was perfect. He couldn't let his family help him out on this one, they were worried enough as it was, and besides, he already knew the perfect person to help. An older friend of his, Harry Foster, had recently taken up a job as a fourth-grade teacher at their old elementary school. He and the Seguin family were well-enough acquainted after all these years, so the sudden visit shouldn't be suspicious to anybody. 

It was two days later that he stumbled on to his porch and found a package addressed to him from Brampton. Harry always did appreciate the value of other people's time.

He cut open the box hastily, pulling out dozens of journals he'd kept since he was at least thirteen. Familiar chicken scratch scrawl filled the pages, accompanied by doodles and some loose-leaf notes. He grinned.

He opened the one on his hand to the first page, almost deflating as he noticed the language. It was Russian, something he fell out of practice with despite it being one of his close friend's first languages. He could piece together simple sentences, but that was about it. Tyler moved on. The next journal was in French, and he sped through it. There was nothing in it but childhood angst, the names of peers he barely remembered, and a name he was completely unfamiliar with.

He spent entire nights reading through what was supposed to be his childhood, but used his days to recuperate in physical therapy, or hang out with teammates. 

Even if there were some portions he couldn't read, the same name kept popping up. He still didn't recognize, even after hours of analyzing everything related to it. 

Tyler remembered in sporadic patches that he had always has an above average IQ. He remembered the advanced placement classes schools tried to put him in, and how he purposely failed classes to avoid it all, even at the expense of his hockey. 

And he noticed that some asshole named Steven Teller was everywhere in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
